Aged Like Fine Wine
by BeefPolice
Summary: <html><head></head>Set 10 years after the end of the game, Ellie has grown up to be a hardened survivor, with a sharp wit, and a sharper eye for shooting, but will we see her edge whittle down when her mentor is nearing his end?</html>
1. 2043

**This is my first upload to this site, and I'd appreciate any sort of feedback you guys could give. I don't write often, but when I do, it's often for my own pleasure on my own time, so actually writing in hopes of receiving constructive criticism is definitely a change. *Massive spoiler alert for the end of the game, of course* EDIT: I wasn't sure how to signify a timeskip, so I guess that line will work for now. EDIT 2: Wow, 123 views, 2 follows and a favorite? I don't know what to say. Maybe it's a measly amount, but it really does matter to me. This was gonna be a one-shot sort of thing, but chapter 2 is on its way, with some minor revisions to the first chapter, but nothing too big. I hadn't planned ahead of time for a chapter 2 so I'm just retrofitting the first chapter a little.**

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><p>Daylight broke over the sleepy town, the early morning rays of light reflecting off of the dew on the blades of grass, jutting freely from the multitude cracks in the street. It had been 30 years since the first case of infection, and Ellie thought hard about how things would've been had there been any semblance of normality in her lifetime. Then again, what exactly WAS normal? The constant night patrols to clear the walls of infected? The silent lurking through empty buildings listening for infected or bandits, putting herself in peril for a measly 3 rounds of 5.56 rounds in some run down military outpost? Knowing how to field strip a rifle, clean it, and put it all back together again simply out of boredom? If this life was normal, then by any stretch of her imagination, the life Joel painted for her was probably, for lack of a better word, heaven. Absolute paradise. The fools. They wouldn't have known what hit them. They were so absorbed in their perfect little haven, in all their fantastical indulgences, that they let the rot kill them inside out. It wasn't fair, really. Ellie sighed, and hopped off of the crate she was sitting on top of, grabbing her beat up M16A4 assault rifle propped up on the wall adjacent to her. It was a mostly for a show of force, at this point. Most of the infected had either died off or were so few in number it hardly mattered. At this point, survivors were her main threat, though most were either armed with popguns or bows and arrows. The war between the bandits and Jackson had left most of the area secure within a 50 mile radius, save for a few vengeful stragglers or some desperate passer-by refusing to listen to reason. Really though, after 10 years of fighting, the gun was beginning to show its age. The grip was worn almost completely smooth, cracks lining the polyester, the butt of the gun encased in duct tape and streaked white with industrial strength glue, which in and of itself was streaked light brown from some poor sucker's brain matter; the teeth of the RIS railings on all but the bottom rail had all but chipped and cracked to utter uselessness, but it didn't stop Ellie from duct-taping a flashlight and laser pointer to them it anyway, topped off with half a pair of binoculars screwed on as a scope. Only the most tacti-cool setup this side of the Sierra Nevada, she thought to herself, chuckling as ran her finger along the battered fore-grip. She only wished the actual gun were in better shape. The once jet black finish was now streaked with tones of red and brown, rust beginning to overtake the weapon, the trigger guard non-existent, and the fire mode selector was a bobby pin now, with the firing modes crudely drawn on in permanent marker. Really, the only part on the gun that wasn't a complete wash was the barrel, which she managed to snag from a vagabond soldier with a death wish; she only wished she shot to kill the bastard instead of shooting and ruining a perfectly good looking replacement rifle. Still, the gun she had functioned, if only just. No matter how much she took care of it though, it still only fell more and more into disrepair; she laughed, as a vague memory of a certain point in time with Joel bubbled to the surface, but she quickly grimaced and pushed it away. Never again. She wasn't going back to that...that nightmare. With a pep in her stride, she began to walk back to the wall. 10 cans of fruit, a couple of shotgun shells(not empty, for once), 30 9mm bullets, a box of .45 ACP, a machete, a well maintained M1911, a kinda shitty 92FS, and some AA batteries. A relatively light haul, but not bad, all things considered. Not much need for foraging ever since the gardens were up and running and their livestock supply had stabilized, but still, she didn't want to lose her edge; it was good exercise, and she certainly preferred the smell of the outdoors over the town any day. It was about a few dozen miles back to the main gates, and she wouldn't be caught dead walking around at night. "Endure and survive, motherfuckers," she mumbled under her breath, smirking as she clutched at the fore grip of her rifle, before slinging it over her back, "endure and survive." And on she walked, flies beginning to congregate over the 4 dead bodies behind her, each with a freshly made bullet wound in their heads.<p>

"She's back," said a sniper to his spotter leisurely, his rifle in his lap, "just another "stroll" into town, you think?"

"Oh yeah, I'm sure," the other man scoffed, casually checking for Ellie in the distance through his binoculars, "looks like a light load today."

"Ah well, maybe she managed to snag you a, heh, "gentlemen's magazine", eh?" the sniper said jokingly to his spotter, who looked over to his partner, rolling his eyes in apathy.

"You only wish, maybe then you could actually get MORE than a light load off, prick," he quipped, "assuming I even let you use it."

"Psh, after saving your ass from that bloater bomb, THIS is how you thank me?" the spotter whined.

"We are behind plexi-glass that's as close to hermetically sealed as it gets in this day and age, 30 feet in the air, with gas masks on," the sniper said, annoyed, but still chuckling, "I was nowhere near having any sorta need to be saved,"

"Your filter was bad that day though," the spotter said in an almost sing-song tone, "yeah, you're welcome."

"Oh bite me. Let's just get her clear with the guards before she trips a false alarm again," the spotter said, stepping outside of their little tree fort, pulling out a flare gun and firing into the air. The flare whistled and whined as it ascended into the air, streaking a brilliant green into the sunset sky. Ellie looked up towards the fort, and waved happily.

"Glad to see you two jokers wasting another flare," Ellie said playfully, "those take time AND more trips to make every time, you know."

"Oh c'mon, don't be like that Ells," the sniper hollered, walking up behind his partner and putting his hand on his shoulder, "Ray was just so eager to check the haul of the day, he says he-"

"I didn't say shit, you brain-dead fuck," the spotter snapped as he turned around to try and whap the sniper on the head, who seemed to take it in stride and laugh as he dodged his incoming blows. Ellie grinned, and shook her head, adjusting her rifle's strap before walking on.

"Look, you scared her off you dick!" the sniper said, laughing, "We'll catch you when the next guys come to relieve us!"

"ONE of us," the spotter snarled, though his expression quickly softened as he looked up over the railing to Ellie, "but bye Ells! Tell the doc to send a body bag!"

"Hey, that sniper is a prick, but he's one of our best, next to uh," she started, clearing her throat and posing dramatically, pointing to herself, "yours truly." The spotter and sniper both looked at each other, and began to chuckle, before a moment of realization came across the spotter's face.

"Ha, ain't that the truth," the spotter said, "welcome back, Ellie, get on home, and by the way, in case you were sleepin' or something, but a freakin' JET flew by last night." With that, Ellie turned back towards the two. She eyed them with a look of surprise. "I ain't kidding, an A-10 flew RIGHT over, it was marked USAF, too."

"He might be a binocular totting maniac with a temper, but he ain't a liar," the sniper said solemnly, but a tone of awe in his voice, "there was a veritable jet that flew over us last night, definitely U.S Air Force."

"The HELL is that supposed to mean?" the spotter snapped, edging closer to his partner angrily.

"Whatever you want, princess," the sniper said, laughing again as the spotter tried vainly to lay hands on him; with a wave of her hand as she walked away, she bid them good bye as they continued to bicker. In the distance, she could see the glimmering lights of Jackson; was it them that flew over? She pondered this as the town gate came into view, all 50 feet of it, solid welded steel lined with barbed wires and flood lights, with complementary 20 foot deep spike pit encompassing the walls, Ellie couldn't have felt more at home. As she walked closer, the gates sprang to life, groaning as they opened slowly for the young woman.

"Why if it ain't the town sheriff," a man called out to her as the doors opened, showing that he was standing there waiting. He was rather gruff, his face adorned with now mostly grey gristle, with patches of black still clinging on. His build was sinewy, his muscles clearly defined even through his jacket and dark green flannel; you wouldn't have guessed his age, and even if he told you, there would still be some doubt; he was still a powerhouse even for his age, if only just a bit slower now. "welcome home, baby girl." he said admiringly.

"It's good to be back, ya geezer," Ellie smiled, walking over the man, and lifting her fist to him. He promptly fist bumped her. "how're you holding up, Joel?"

"Ah y'know, bit of aches, bit of pains, but!" he said excitingly, pulling out something from behind his pocket, "look what the big guy found me." he revealed an old looking bottle of pills, the labeling mangled but she could still just make out the blue and yellow "Ale".

"You managed to get some Aleve?!" she said, grasping at the bottle shocked.

"Well, Tommy did," Joel said, taking the bottle back and putting it into his jacket pocket, "it certainly helps, that's for sure.

"Well that's great, Joel," she said patting him on the shoulder, "maybe now you can actually come along with me on my walks."

"Ha, like I can't?" Joel said jokingly, lightly punching her in the arm, "getting real cocky kiddo, don't forget who taught you everything you know. Hell, I still know a thing or two you could learn."  
>"Oh yeah, and what exactly would that be?" Ellie chuckled, getting into a boxing stance, bobbing around back and forth as she playfully jabbed at the air in front of him, "How to Be Old, Fat, and Slow: The Official How-To by Old-Man Joel"<p>

"Oh yeah? Well how about thi-" Joel began before he froze up with a look of terror and agonizing pain on his face, as he clutched his hand at his chest, before falling over and breathing very heavily on the ground, as he writhed around in the dirt on his back.

"Oh haw haw, real funny Joel," Ellie said, getting out of her stance and leaning over Joel as he spasmed on the ground, onlookers walking by with worried looks on their faces. "Get up ya old coot, if it's a heart attack that kills you, I want out from the school of Sensei Joel," Joe struggled to lift his other arm up to her face, running his hand down her cheek, looking at her in complete desperation, before he slowly stopped moving, and went limp, his breathing grinding to a halt, as he let out one last breath, and his eyes began to glaze over, a crowd began to gather around the two. "Come on Joel, let's go, you're making a scene," Ellie said, annoyed as she began to walk off, when a soft gasp caught her attention. Her chest tightened, her fists clenched as she turned around to see the town doctor leaning over Joel, a grim look on his face.

"Wait," Ellie said, almost pleading, "Joel?" she rushed back almost to his side instantly, only to be stopped by the crowd, "Let me through you FUCKING pricks!" she screamed, throwing kick after punch haphazardously at the crowd that began to surround her, tears freely flowing down her face as the doctor tried half-heartedly to resuscitate Joel. "Let me THROUGH!" she shrieked, pulling her Beretta and firing into the air, quickly sending the crowd fleeing, leaving only the doctor between her and Joel. She pointed her weapon at him, almost dead eyed, her lips quivering as her pistol shook in her hand. "Move it, Doc," she said completely deadpan in tone, her eyes bloodshot, devoid of any sympathy for the doctor.

"Now Ellie..." the doctor began, his legs shaking as he took a step toward the bereaved woman.

"Don't you "Now Ellie" me, you fucking pencil-pushing shit monger," she said sardonically, almost laughing, as a smile flashed across her face, and then left just as quickly, "move aside, or I end your very, VERY successful career as a medical practitioner," she threatened, her voice shaking with an unspeakable rage. "Now," she said in a matter-of-factly tone, cocking her hammer back and firing into the ground barely missing the doctor's foot, "Move." she said with an ominous smile, as tears kept cascading down her now crimson red cheeks. The doctor quickly stepped aside, his hands high above his head as he helplessly watched Ellie rush to Joel's side, immediately attempting to compress his chest, "Come on, you old fuck," she said desperately, her breathing devolving into a twisted mixture of laughing and sobbing as she viciously pressed on him, "come ON!" she wailed, punching him square in the middle of his rib cage, immediately sending Joel into a beastly coughing fit, wheezing as Ellie jumped back, shocked. "What the flying fuck?!" she exclaimed, watching as Joel clutched at his chest, still coughing, before snapping to her senses and offering him a hand up. "Fucking Christ Joel," she said, her voice shaking, as he took her hand. She dropped her pistol, and quickly embraced him tightly, rushing to get the tears off her face before burrowing her face into his shoulder.

"Now, you got a wee bit carried away there, don'tcha think?" Joel rasped, patting her head meekly.

"Shut up, just," she whimpered softly, "just shut up." With that, Joel let out a long sigh, his breathing still wheezy, and hugged her back just as tight.

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><p>"Well, that certainly went south, no pun intended," the doctor said, slumping into his chair, clutching his glasses in-between his fingers.<p>

"Yeah well, it was in damned bad taste in hind sight," Joel said somberly, "didn't think she'd come on so strongly."

"Well you're kinda the one person that's always been there for her, above and beyond all the way and such," said the doctor, getting up to check his calendar, a rough sketch of crudely drawn boxes and the month scrawled across the top, crossing off one more box. The day was April the 1st, 2043. "Better luck next year, I s'pose?" he said, before turning to Joel. "What did you make of that plane that flew over? Friendly?"

"Well, it certainly didn't shoot at us," Joel said assuredly, "that gun it's toting is the size of a Beetle, rips straight through tank armor, and the fact that it didn't light us up is a damn big comfort in my book." Joel sat up, and began to walk out of the doctor's office, pausing in the door way. "I'm gonna be fine, right doc?"

"Of course. My guess is you've got arthritis, nothing serious. Just keep taking your meds and taking it easy and you'll be golden." the doctor said happily, walking over to Joel and patting him on the shoulder. "She's grown up now, she can handle herself out there, Joel. Don't worry about her." Joel grumbled, and walked out of the office. On his desk laid a notepad, with various scribbles and symptoms for Joel, and at the very bottom, bursitis was underlined and circled, with an arrow pointing to spinal epidural abscess. The doctor walked over to his desk, and flipped the notepad over.


	2. Fly-by

**Sorry for the delay! My internet was being a little whiny baby and refused to connect. I should be putting these things out weekly or bi-weekly, I'll see how long the next chapter takes me. This chapter's a little long, sorry! EDIT: Chapter 3 is in the works, just doing some extra tidying up. To everyone that's viewing this, thanks a bunch! You're all wonderful ^^**

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><p>Field report #85OWBS4S54E, reporting Officer: Cpt. De la Rosa<p>

Date: March 31st - April 1st, 2043

3/31/43 - 09:00: Arrived on scene of gunfire, multiple casualties found(4). KIA via headshot, four 5.56 NATO shells found nearby. Negative infected contact, but this officer believes shooter may have military training.

3/31/43 - 09:43: Cleared town of stray infected, negative contact there on after 20 minutes. Infected not within 5 miles, at least.

3/31/43 - 10:30: Some clickers from the south, nothing special. Area seems to be mostly clear.

3/31/43 - 11:47: 1SG. Rogers spotted tracks leading west, single pair of shoes, light indentations, investigating.

3/31/43 - 18:24: Negative contact, trail ends at a barn.

3/31/43 - 18:27: Contact, young woman in her 20s, appears volatile, proceeding with caution; safeties are off

3/31/43 - 18:35: Situation de-escalated, survivor part of a large group 12 klicks northwest; offered to trade food for weapons. Offer considered, this Captain could go with something other than old rations.

3/31/43 - 18:57: Returning to LZ, traded AR x 1 for canned fruit x 10. Confirmed woman as shooter; one hell of a badass.

4/1/43 - 00:54: Arrived back at LZ, RTB.

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><p>"Damn, one hell of a trip," said Saito, eyeing over his rifle as the truck bumped along the road, "glad that zero-tolerance-shoot-to-kill ruling got taken down, we would've never known about their farm."<p>

"Ain't that the truth," said De La Rosa, "always hated that fucking rule." he said in a low, contemptuous snarl, as his hands gripped the wheel tighter, weaving in-between the wrecked cars along the highway.

"You kill a lot of civvies, sir?" asked Rogers sitting on the tail of the truck, looking back at his commanding officer worryingly. De la Rosa shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and eyed the road wordlessly. Rogers adjusted his helmet, and turned back around. " Sorry sir. I doubt anyone liked it either. But it's over now."

"It never is," the Captain said in a low voice, as they made their way to their base, its brilliant lights shining down upon their truck and the road around them. The truck's radio crackled as it sprung to life, a gruff voice calling out to them.

"What's on T.V?" the voice said, anxious in tone. De la Rosa smiled and brought the speaker to his mouth in one hand.

"10 o'clock news, with a new anchor," he said coolly, "lots of new anchors." The voice cleared its throat.

"Repeat, how many anchors?"

"Not enough channels in the world," De la Rosa said, "world hunger is on its way out, too." The voice laughed.

"Rosie, you always were a comic," the voice said jokingly, "come on in, we'll get ya debriefed." As the voice died down on the radio, the massive steel doors in front of them began to open. It was a massive complex, 100 feet of concrete 10 inches thick, reinforced by another 5 inches of steel, with massive 30 feet tall concrete guard towers overlooking the complex and beyond, each adorned with spotlights that would be comparable to the sun at night. It truly was good to be home. As their truck pulled into the base, a crowd of soldiers surrounded the truck, a group of hazmat soldiers stepping through, their white suits sparkling ominously in the beams of the truck's headlights. The hazmat soldier in the middle pulled out a microphone and held it up to their helmet.

"Alright fellas, you know the drill," the woman in the suit said, as the crowd of soldiers warily gripped their weapons. One by one, the team stepped out of their truck, placing their weapons on the floor, and putting their hands up. The scouting teams always went through this, and it really was only the smart thing to do. Crazies have managed to hijack trucks and uniforms to get into their haven before, and of course, there was the risk of a soldier hiding a bite or a broken filter. The team of 5 stood confidently, despite having guns trained on them from almost every angle in sight; it didn't bother them. They were the most experienced scouting squad there was, having survived over 10 years of scouting with over a few thousand excursions outside, and not one loss. It was routine, really; thanks to this, they garnered the nickname "The Rosy 5". De la Rosa was their long time leader, a quiet cynic with a surprising sense of humor that would seemingly come out of nowhere; he was a career military man before the outbreak hit, making him a veteran even amongst veterans. Despite his age, he was still built strong, yet lean, his uniform wrapping him almost perfectly, no signs of excess fat anywhere. Of course, anyone out of shape in this day and age was a fool, but De la Rosa's health was exceptional. His mile times were unbeaten until Saito came onto the compound; only natural that a Scout would hold it, but he would always be a Ranger at heart. At age 50, he had outlived most of his Ranger compatriots, most having died in the war with the Fireflies. First Sergeant Rogers was their tracker and machine-gunner, having been a hunter before the outbreak, and he was an excellent one at that; built a little more heavily than the rest of the squad, due to his years of lugging around 100-odd pounds of ammo and firepower at any given moment, he was a looming giant, a hothead, and a force to be reckoned with. Master Sergeant Saito was their sniper, a lightly built, petite man, with an unheard of dexterity behind the scope of a rifle, and seemingly boundless agility. Rumor has it he was a SEAL before this mess, which wouldn't surprise Rosa in the slightest. He got to places where they couldn't, and provided sniper cover that was second to none, firing round after devilishly accurate round in one spot, before moving to another just as quickly, vaulting rooftop to rooftop with ease. 1st Lieutenant Davis, their communications officer, was a rigid, by the books soldier, often butting heads with their wily machine-gunner. Finally, there was Sergeant Major Friedman, a gruff, jaded soldier with snarled up lips and a jagged set of scars running down the side of his neck. He was shot in the throat by a bandit, and miraculously, survived. He was their point man, built heavily like a brawler, but he still moved with a sense of smoothness and poise; he went where none of the others dared to, and often, came back out a mess and with a smoking gun barrel spattered with blood before waving his hand silently motioning them forward. A regular badass, indeed.

"Alright, steady now," another hazmat said as he took the scouts' gasmasks off one by one, eyeing them over carefully before moving onto the next soldier. Another soldier came over with a scanner, and went over them as well, one by one. Each came up clean, and none of them were impostors.

"Looks good, Rosie," the head hazmat soldier said, taking off her helmet with a hiss of air, "welcome home."

"Good to be back, Delano," he said, a smile cracking on his face, if only just, "alright men, let's go get us debriefed." With a motion of his hand, his squad all picked up their weapons, and fell in line behind Rosa in a Phalanx formation, as he made his way towards the towering structure in front of them. The HQ, posted in a tower another 100 feet in the air over the walls, with 360 degree spotlights and multiple gun ports along its shaft, and only one way in: through 48 inches of reinforced steel blast doors. As they walked toward them, they were stopped yet again. Another checkpoint, same drill. They each were tested, and each checked out. Rosa knew the risk and consequences of being too lax about checking for infection and impostors, and it was an annoyance he was willing to go through. With that, the doors grinded open, as surveillance cameras watched their every move. As they made their way down the corridor, lit up in a menacing red hue, they passed by maintenance crew and soldiers alike, each watching them keenly, but with admiration all the same. At the end of the hall, they approached one more checkpoint. 2 heavily armed guards with M240C light machine guns. Their armor was a remnant of the past, but it was still death defying; dressed in head to toe with Dragon-Scale armor, they could possibly shrug off even a .50 caliber bullet strike and return fire before the shooter even realized they weren't dead; they had managed to snag a few suits on an excursion to Norfolk a few years back. It was a bloody experience, but it was worth it in the end. And of course, infected bites weren't a problem. One of them lumbered over to Rosa, and held a scanner up, and of course, it checked out. The hallway flashed green for just a split second, and a chime was heard.  
>"Good to go, sirs," the man said happily, the two of them stepping aside as the elevator doors swung open, "head on up." The team crowded into the elevator, and waited patiently as it chugged its way up the tower, soft jazz droning on softly as it went along. Rosa scoffed, tapping his finger along to the beat. They finally put some music in here, he thought. As they reached the only floor the elevator was meant to have access to, it lurched to a halt, and the doors slid open, revealing yet another fire team and hazmat unit. With a sigh, Rosa walked over with his hands up, as did his team, and they all checked out.<p>

"I'd hate to do this three times in a row within 10 minutes too," said a hazmat soldier consolingly, as he motioned the soldiers to stand down. "All clean as usual, Rosa. Impressive." Rosa eyed the hazmat soldier passively, but almost begrudgingly as he walked past, but quickly shifted his eyes to the front, where he was met with another blast door. No checkpoint this time, but a simple flash of green all around them, followed by a ding.

"Always good news with you, De la Rosa," a voice on the intercom chimed, "and I have a feeling it's even better news today." The doors grinded open, revealing a massive room filled with people working at desks and scurrying around with paperwork, with many more on radios directing military excursions and searching for survivors. In the middle of it all stood the base commander, an old man, but with a strong chin, clean shaven, with a multitude of medals on his breast, and a silver pistol strapped to his hip. "What do you have for me?" the commander asked. De la Rosa perked up, and put his hands behind his back neatly, standing tall and firm.

"General Dawson, sir, my team and I were on our way back from a routine excursion when we heard distant gunfire," he started, breathing easily, "deciding to investigate, we diverted our course from home, and made our way to the site of the shooting."

"And what did you find, Captain?"

"We found 4 KIAs, all GSWs to the head, and only 4 5.56 NATO shells to be seen nearby. They were looted of their weapons." The general's face soured briefly.

"Were they ours?" Dawson asked slowly, grimacing slightly.

"Negative, they were rag tag, possibly bandits," Rosa said in an assuring tone, "and the fact that the shooter managed to take on 4 hostiles on their own and dispatch them with only 4 shots prompted us to continue our search for the shooter, assuming they could be a valued asset."

"I see," the general said thoughtfully, his face softening, "Continue."

"We tracked the shooter by vehicle out to an abandoned barn, a couple dozen klicks away from the scene, all thanks to 1SG. Rogers," said Rosa, looking back at his tracker proudly. Rogers bowed his head and chuckled, his face reddening a little. "It was here that the shooter confronted us, aiming her weapon at my neck."

"How were you aware of this?"

"The shooter had a laser pointer, sir." De la Rosa said, chuckling at the thought.

"A laser pointer? As in, attached to the rifle?" the general asked incredulously.  
>"Correct. It was the most ridiculous thing I have ever laid eyed on, but that rifle was pretty accurate for a beater," Rosa quipped, "or the shooter was that damn good, because she fired a shot right by my ear as a warning shot before bringing her sights to my neck, sir."<p>

"I'm assuming the good news isn't that you neutralized her."

"Negative, sir," Rosa said, "we didn't."

"So what's the good news?"

"They have a community, sir," Rosa said, perking up, "a huge one. One with working electricity. And a farm." At this, the general's eyes widened, as he took a step towards Rosa.

"Say again, Captain?" he commanded, as he tried to process the information.

"They have a farm and electricity. They know how to survive, as well," Rosa said in a quiet awe, "she was one of their top scouts and soldiers, and all 4 of those rounds were from her rifle. She made us an offer, sir."

"And what would that be?"

"She offered to start up a trade route between us, food for guns, ammo, meds, the works," Rosa said wistfully, "imagine, sir, actual home grown fruits and veggies, actual meat-" The general held up his hand to hush the captain.

"Son," he started, his voice low, "did you just say actual meat?"

"That I did sir," said Rosa, beaming, "chickens, cows, pigs, and occasional duck hunts, sir." The general was taken aback, and stared at the ceiling, seemingly mesmerized at the light overhead, before his head snapped back into position so he could look Rosa dead in the eye.

"You fucking with me, Rosa?" Dawson inquired gravely, Rosa attempting to stifle a laugh, "you got something funny to say, Cap'n?"

"Well yeah, I am aware of the date, sir," Rosa replied casually, "but I assure you, General Dawson, sir, that if they're lying about this, I will deal with it personally. We all will" as he said this, his team fell into line behind him, standing upright, all with hands behind their backs. Dawson looked at them pensively, before walking over to a radio mic.

"This is Callsign Peregrine, hailing Lowry AFB on channel 3, comeback," the general spoke lowly, the radio crackling in his hand, before a voice came on.

"Peregrine acknowledged, you're through to Lowry AFB, what can we do for you, sir?" the voice asked.

"Requesting you to scramble a fast mover for a recon mission about 36 klicks northwest of my 20, got reports of a large group of survivors in that area. This is a priority mission." The radio crackled, the voice silent. "Lowry, do you copy?" the general asked anxiously, the crackling persisting.

"Acknowledged Peregrine, but be advised, we will not be able to provide air support for awhile. We are low on fuel, and the next convoy with jet fuel is a few weeks out, over,"

"Peregrine copies, get this done, Lowry, Peregrine out." the general put down the mic, and turned back to Rosa, his face grim, but his eyes tinged with something lingering between the lines hope and skepticism. "Now we just wait," Dawson said solemnly, as Rosa and his crew shifted uncomfortably. There really was no guarantee that she was telling the truth, Rosa thought. He never was good at gambling, really, but there was something different about that woman. Something he had to take a chance on. He put all his cards on this one, and was about 70% sure that this would be the real deal. The radio in the general's hand crackled to life, the sound of jet engines roaring in the background.

"This is Captain Bartlett, callsign Heartbreak 1, and I will be your pilot this lovely Wednesday evening, what can I do you for, General?" the pilot chimed happily, as the general breathed a sigh and put the mic to his face.

"Heartbreak 1, this is Peregrine, you're going to be scouting over a rumored civilian community, at-" the general paused, looking to Rosa. Rosa quickly foraged in his vest's left pocket, pulling out a folded slip of paper, handing it to the general. The general unfolded the paper, before speaking again. "Heartbreak 1, that's north four three point two eight three one by west one one zero point four four six nine," the general handed back the paper to Rosa, who crumpled it and slipped it back into his pocket.

"Heading four three point two eight three one north by one one zero point four four six nine west, Peregrine confirm?"

"Exactly Heartbreak 1, ride easy."

"Copy that, stairway to heaven is open, your troops want a fly-by?" Bartlett chimed eagerly

"Affirmative, but watch your fuel."

"Heartbreak 1 copies, en route." he said, with the whine of his jet engines increasing in pitch, air whooshing by quickly in the background before the radio returned to crackling.

"They still flying the Hogs, sir?" Rosa asked, fondly recalling his moments with the plane, "one beast of a jet, heard they can run on alcohol too."

"That they do, Bartlett's in one right now I believe," the general said affirmatively, turning his back on Rosa to go back to his chair, "he's gonna be coming in from the south east, might as well enjoy the show." With that, Rosa and his team all stood easy, as they each found a different spot of wall to lean on or a vacant chair to plop themselves on. Rosa went to the massive window overlooking the base, watching as his comrades scurried about below him, each doing their task diligently, even at this hour of the night. They had a long day, and yet, no one seemed to miss a beat. Everyone was happy. For just a moment, Rosa thought everything was okay, as he closed his eyes, and breathed a sigh of temporary relief, only to be interrupted by a distant roar. The roar edged closer and closer, as a pair of red and green lights approached in the distance. Rosa focused in on the lights, that veered off to the left of his vision, out of sight from the window. The soldiers going about their business all looked towards the noise, pointing and shouting to the northwest, out of view from the tower Rosa was in. It was distant again, climbing away from the base, before it started coming back. Some of the soldiers were running now, pointing upwards, as it came closer and closer, and then, a streak of grey screamed past right in front of the tower, shaking the windows violently as the whine of jet engines filled the room then left just as quickly, startling everyone in the room. Even Rosa had realized he had jumped a few feet backwards. The radio came to life, with Bartlett laughing heartily.

"How's THAT for a fly by?" he said laughing, as his jet flew off into the distance. The general scrambled over to the mic, his face red.

"Heartbreak 1, I asked for a fly by, not a danger-close knife flight!" the general scolded firmly.

"Apologies Peregrine, but every bird's gotta stretch its wings sometime," Bartlett said, still chuckling before his voice sobered up, "about 32 klicks out from the target zone, will advise. You want another show, sir?" he asked, the snark in his voice nearly palpable.

" Negatory Heartbreak 1, just get this done and RTB ASAP," The general said, a bead of sweat dropping down the side of his head.

"Roger that, Heartbreak 1 out." The general put his mic down, and slumped into a chair, letting out an aspirated sigh. Rosa walked back to the window, looking down. The soldiers were cheering, running about the base commons excitedly. That was certainly terrifying, sure, but it definitely raised the morale. The general was still slumped in his seat, anxiously watching the radio, its silence stifling. The minutes grinded by, with no word from Heartbreak 1, and Rosa's team was getting antsy. Suddenly, the radio crackled to life once more, with Bartlett laughing in disbelief.

"Sirs, you are not going to believe this, but there are lights on. I repeat, lights on, bunches of them," reported the pilot, his engines slowing down, "people are coming out of their homes and waving sir."

"Heartbreak 1 say again, how many, and are they hostile?" the general inquired hastily, as Rosa's team all circled around the table.

"Too many sir, and I can't tell from here, I can see cheering from where I'm at," Bartlett went quiet, his engines droning in the background, before he piped up again, fumbling around with his mic, "Sir, I see cattle in the hills. There are veritable cattle, sir."

"Heartbreak 1 confirm, you see cattle?"

"Confirm sir. No one's shooting at me just yet either, and I'm only circling about 500 feet above the ground," Bartlett said in awe, "this might be the real deal, sir."

"Peregrine copies, Heartbreak 1 RTB and get some R&R, you've done great." the general said, almost unable to hide the disbelief in his voice.

"Heartbreak 1 copies, RTB. Heartbreak 1 out." he said, as his engines revved up before the audio cut out. Dawson sat there for a moment, before looking up at Rosa and his team.

"Rosa, I want you running security on this, tell the depot to get a few trucks loaded up with our spare ammo, guns, and meds. We'll decide what we want as a base later, put it to a vote," the general said slowly, slowly realizing that this was legitimate. "You really hit the jackpot this time, Captain."


End file.
